


I Owe You So Much

by DPS



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angelo's done right, Aspects of Season 4 (that weren't terrible), Boys In Love, Fluff, Inexperienced Sherlock, Intimacy, Light Smut, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Relationship Discussions, Tickling, back at 221b, bed sharing, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPS/pseuds/DPS
Summary: The boys are back at 221B where they belong. John has decided that it is time for them to talk, really talk, after all the years of secrets and lies. How will the detective react to musings of sentimentality?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I've been in the Sherlock fandom for almost two years, and I've loved the ACD stories since high school. Due to the disappointment of Season 4, I wanted to write something constructive, even if it is a little fluffy, about what should happen with the boys back at 221B. No Rosie Watson, although she is adorable and I love parentlock!  
> Cheers!  
> MC

In a truly duplicitous fashion, Mary plotted against the Holmes’ brothers in a terrifying game shortly after Sherlock was saved from Eastern Europe by the Moriarty threat, which turned out to be Mary’s doing all along. After revealing her plot, getting close to John after Moriarty’s suicide and using her fake pregnancy to keep him, she attempted to kill Sherlock, Mycroft and John while they plotted her downfall at Baker Street by implanting a grenade in the flat, which was evaded by quick thinking on Sherlock's part, and although the bomb destroyed most of the flat, the men escaped mainly unscathed. She was caught by MI6 shortly after the explosion, and carted off to a mysterious prison off the coast, never to be seen again to the great relief of John, Sherlock, and the British Government.

Now, after two months, 221B was restored to its former glory; the Bison skull was remounted, the smiley face on the far wall held its comforting bullet holes, and the flat appeared to be brand new. The two Baker Street residents sat in their armchairs, staring at one another while simultaneously thinking of an excuse, any excuse, to break the heavy silence.

“Tea?” John sighed after a moment, and the dark-haired man across from him nodded with a closed expression on his softly lined face.

John got up from his chair with a wince, his back protesting the movement. He was not as young as he once was, and so much had happened since he moved into Baker Street all those years ago, with his psychosomatic limp and his dwindling energy for life.

As John put the kettle on and set two tea cups out- Sherlock’s stark gray mug and John’s RAMC- John turned to peer at the man in the sitting room.

As John looked at Sherlock, he attempted to give the detective an epithet within the confines of his mind that suited the petulant detective. Was Sherlock his friend again? “Friend” seems far too uncomplicated after everything the two had gone through together: after seven years, a faked suicide, and an assassin wife with a false pregnancy. These events tearing at their sanities, separating the two men and yet…. Here they are, back at Baker Street.

When his wife had shot Sherlock, John had completely given up on his marriage. It was a breath of relief for John, remembering back to his wedding day and the regret he felt listening to Sherlock pour his heart out in front of one hundred and fifty strangers and a few dear friends. The heart he claimed not to have, and that John had never gone searching for; as if Sherlock hadn't spent their entire friendship rejecting such frivolities. 

_“So here you sit, between the woman you have married and the man you have saved, in short the two people who love you the most in all this world….”_

High-Functioning Sociopath my arse, John thought bitterly.

No, friend, even best friend, was not the appropriate title for Sherlock anymore. Best man at his wedding, and he stood and took a vow after playing a heart-wrenching ballad that had weighted John’s heart. A vow to John, and the people John had chosen to live his life with.

The three of them, standing there after the announcement of the “pregnancy,” and Sherlock’s soft, falling smile as he looked at John; the realization that Sherlock was bowing out, gracefully, by leaving the wedding early. Distancing himself from John’s new life of domestic bliss, with Mary’s smug approval shining from her cold eyes.

No, Sherlock was always more than _just_ a friend, a companion. If John was Sherlock’s conductor of light, then Sherlock was the light. The light in John’s darkest days, the light that turned his life around, bringing John back to life twice after his discharge from the army and Sherlock’s faked suicide.

“John? What are you waiting for?” Sherlock asked in a seemingly bored tone, having picked up his beautiful violin and was plucking carelessly at the strings with his dexterous fingers while John looked at him, frozen in the past that seems to loom over the flat even now.

So many words unsaid. So many repressed feelings that are now bubbling to the surface in this missed domesticity, brewing tea and looking at this brilliant, ridiculous, beautiful man. Shaking his head, John knew it is time to stop denying the truth. As a traditional British man, he resolved to solve his problem using the ultimate weapon: tea. 

Shaking off his thoughts momentarily, John poured the steeped Earl Grey into the two mugs, adding sugar _(too much, not good for his nutrition intake)_ into Sherlock’s mug and milk into his own.

As John handed over the tea to his…. Sherlock, the man met his eyes. A spark of heat flashed down John’s spine, and he tried to repress the involuntary shiver as he stared back.

Even after all these years of denial- _if anyone out there still cares, I AM NOT GAY_ \- and the cruelty- _Don’t make people into heroes John, heroes don’t exist and if they did I wouldn’t be one of them_ \- Sherlock still brought out the deepest sentiment John was capable of feeling; the protectiveness and possessiveness growling inside of the army doctor every time he looked at the detective.

John wanted to hold onto this strange, vulnerable man sitting in his chair. This ridiculous man who insisted on wearing his _High Functioning Sociopath_ title like armor against the sentiment that shown in his iridescent eyes each time he looked at John.

Well, that just wont do, John decided with a determined nod.

“Sherlock, come over here” John beckoned to the couch, turning without another word to sit on the aforementioned furniture and attempting to draw up his remaining courage for this dreaded conversation.

Sherlock tilted his head in confusion but acquiesced without question, as he often did for John, and followed the man to the coach, sitting on the opposite end and staring out the window into the London night while clutching his tea like lifeline.

“Well John? Despite my intellectual abilities of which you are well aware, I am not, in fact, a mind reader and you know I find banal conversations utterly abhorrent, so if you could be so kind as to get to the point,” Sherlock demanded in his imperious tone, underscored by the nervous ticking of his fingers on the mug he was holding and the slight pitchiness of his voice.

John smiled fondly at Sherlock’s well-hidden nervousness (well-hidden to anyone but John), and he steeled himself. _Into battle_ , indeed.

“Sherlock, calm down would you. I want to talk-“ John holds up a hand against the detective’s huff- “we have things we need to say to one another, I think, and it is far past time we should be saying them.” John rambled, clearing his throat and looking up at Sherlock, who was watching him with a cloaked expression and guarded eyes.

“John, as you know you are a remarkable asset for my Work, and I view you as a friend, one of my only friend’s, but I must remind you that I am a-“

“High-Functioning Sociopath? Sherlock, we both know that is a load of bollocks. You have proven, time and time again, that you are not unfeeling; rather you are one of the most caring men I have ever had the pleasure to know. You jumped off a building to save me and your friends, you’re not the selfish bastard you make yourself out to be.” John exhales shakily, trying not to become overwhelmed by the memories of blood on the pavement and a pale forehead streaked with blood- _He is sitting right in front of you, Watson, pull yourself together_.

John tried to meet Sherlock’s gaze, but he had turned his eyes to the window and seemed to be lost in thought as well. John cleared his throat, and Sherlock cocked his head slightly to the side to indicate he was listening, “Sherlock, you told me once that I was your only friend. You told me once that I was the man who saved you, but it isn’t true. You have saved me too Sherlock, so many times and in so many ways, and I owe you so much.” John choked out, eyes stinging as he remembers the same words he had spoken at Sherlock’s grave so many years before. The despair at facing a life without light in it, the person he had never been truthful to.

“And since you have saved me, I feel it is only right that I tell you the truth” John continued, staring at the ground for a moment before gulping in a deep breathe and reaching over, taking one of Sherlock’s pale, alabaster hands into his own, forcing the brilliant man to meet his eyes with a shocked gasp.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I-I think I’ve loved you since I shot a cabbie for you, and we giggled at a crime scene before getting dinner. Ever since I saw you with that stupid drawn on mustache, bringing me back to life with your miraculous return from death. I’ve loved you since I married the wrong person, wishing with all my heart I had made a vow to you that day. I’ve loved you since you were shot by my wife, and tried to save my failed marriage anyways for my happiness, even though I wasn't happy without you” John breathed out, stumbling over the words but saying them all slowly, knowing that he needs to say these hidden truths and be understood, “I am in love with you, Sherlock. I want to be with you in more ways than just friends. I want to take you to bed and wake up with you in the morning. I want to kiss you, and go to crime scenes with you, and laugh at inappropriate moments with you. I want to be with you always.”

The flat was silent except for the sounds of honking cabbies and people chatting down on Baker Street, and John was still looking at Sherlock, trying to decipher if his attentions were welcome by peering into those pale blue eyes.

Sherlock, however, was sitting completely frozen, his eyes wide and his breathing shallow:and after a few moments, John became concerned.

“Sherlock, it’s just me, breathe Sherlock. Come on, there you go,” John praised as Sherlock exhaled shakily at John insistence, looking down at their joined hands for a moment before slowly moving his hand away. John frowned, but waited for Sherlock to say something, looking away momentarily to give Sherlock space to sort his thoughts.

While waiting for a response, John felt oddly calm. Whether Sherlock dismissed his sentiments as unwanted, or expressed his love for the doctor, John is content that the secrets he had held for so long are gone, and he felt a weight off his heart at the realization that if he died tomorrow, Sherlock would know that was loved by John.

As John glanced out of the corner of his eye at his beloved detective, he saw the man looking completely and utterly lost, his hands clenching and his eyes darting back and forth across the room, his body completely frozen in shock as he processed John’s confession.

A grin slowly stretched itself across John’s face, and a little chuckle escaped his lips without his consent. Sherlock whipped his head over, peering at John like he did with his more frustrating experiments that illude him. 

“John? What-” Sherlock began, but John just reached up to stroke his cheekbone lightly, leaving room between their bodies so Sherlock didn't feel uncomfortable.

John smiled cheekily, “It’s just- I’ve never seen you at a loss for words.” John continued to stroke his thumb back and forth across the cheekbone, watching in fascination as the alabaster skin beneath his calloused hand began to turn rosy and the detective’s eyes close against the vulnerability.

John’s smug smile fell into something softer, more gentle as he witnesses the hardened detective who had faced so much adversity in his life blush like a young person facing affection and intimacy for the first time. Perhaps this is the first time for Sherlock, John pondered as he continued to stroke the cheekbone gently, emboldened by the fact he hadn’t been pushed away and Sherlock was leaning his visage into the quiet affection. John stared at his Cupid's bow lips in fascination, wanting nothing more than to taste, but the older man refrained, realizing that kisses may be startling to Sherlock. 

“Sherlock," John quietly prompted after a while, “I need to know how you feel so we can figure this out. We don’t need to do anything more than this,” John remarked, enjoying the friendly intimacy between the two men in the flat at the moment, “but if you want more than this, we need to talk about it, love.”

Sherlock started at the endearment, and his eyes opened sleepily into a half lidded stare of contentment for a brief moment before he seemed to realize the situation.

He leaned away from John’s touch slowly and cleared his throat, “y-yes I imagine that we do need to talk.” Sherlock trails off and John encourages him with a nod, his body turned to be completely facing Sherlock on the couch and his expression and body language open and relaxed.

“I am not a sentimental man, John, and I know you are aware, but you are my exception. My _feelings_ ” Sherlock spits the word as if it is an uninteresting case, “for you have not diminished with time, but have grown. I missed you, every day when I was away.” Sherlock admitted, peering down at his hands that were nervously clutched together, “and when I came back to you, I foolishly believed that you would have waiting for me as I did for you.”

Sherlock sighed, thinking back to his disastrous reappearance at the restaurant and his utter dejection seeing his replacement in John’s life, “but life has to move forward, and I accepted that Mary was that for you and I was a member of your past.”

Sherlock looked to John once again, piercing him with his inquisitive gaze, “you claimed you were not gay on many occasions, and due to your obsession with women I never doubted your inability to be swayed by the male form” Sherlock gestured to himself, in his six foot pale, lean glory, and John’s eyes swept over his form in a hungry manner that caused the younger man to redden once again.

“I-I never thought you would be a-attracted to me, let alone love me the way I had grown to love you” he admitted in a whisper, “But John, you must know that after all this time, you are the only person I have and will ever love. I-I want to be with you, like you said, all that is....good.” Sherlock finished haltingly, peering at John shyly through his thick eyelashes as if waiting to be rebuked.

John allowed the beautiful words, words he never believed he would hear, to wash over his senses and the overwhelming feelings of happiness descend. Sherlock loved him. He loved Sherlock. They had their home back, and a life in front of them that could be reclaimed; a life of crime solving, dinner at Angelo’s _with_ candles, nights with crap telly and cold cases and take out and tea.

Lost in his revelry as he was, John didn’t notice Sherlock’s nervous expression darkening until the man leapt to his feet in a flurry of dressing gown and foul-temper. John tensed in surprise for a moment, before recognizing that Sherlock was out of his comfort zone and therefore lashing out.

“Well, there you have it John!” Sherlock ranted, ignoring his partner who stood up to calm him, ”now you know that I am as infallible to sentiment as you always believed; I imagine the readers of your blog will have a field day realizing that I am susceptible to the baser emotions of the chemical defect found on-“

John spun his ranting detective around, stretched on his toes and kissed him, hard, tasting of Earl Grey and the leftover over Chinese take out they had eaten earlier. Sherlock’s shock at being cut off lasted only a few seconds before he tentatively began to kiss back, wrapping his gangly arms around the doctor’s waist and back and gently moving his lips over the thin lip’s belonging to John.

John smiled at the adorable shyness of his moody detective, and began to gently nip at his plush lower lip, seeking access to his mouth by stroking his tongue across the seem until Sherlock’s mouth opened with a gasp. The kiss became heated quickly, as John grasped the detective’s face in his strong hands and took control of the kiss, backing Sherlock up until he was flush with the door, moaning lightly into John’s mouth, as John tasted the sweetness of too sugary tea on his tongue. John moved his hands up Sherlock's face and into his curls, lightly tugging at the silky strands like he had always dreamed of, basking in the sweet sighs coming from the younger man against the door. 

John moved his hands from Sherlock’s face and hair to his sides, holding him steady as the two men traded whispers of sentiment back and forth in the comfort of their home. A heat began to grow in John's body as he kissed the man he loved, and as much as he wanted to continue kissing the gorgeous man, he knew that he couldn't move to fast. 

John began to slow the kisses after a while and the kiss came to a natural conclusion with light pecks exchanged until both men’s breathing had evened out. John stood back, and looked at the disheveled man in front of him. Sherlock looked utterly debauched with red, shining lips and his curls fluffed from John stroking during the kiss, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson from exertion and, John deduced, his natural newness to romantic intimacy. Realizing Sherlock Holmes, the great detective and genius, was blushing from a few of John's kisses cause a fierce surge of happiness through John that he couldn't ignore, and the doctor was looking forward to kissing his love many, many times if it would receive such sweet reactions from the supposedly "cold and calculating" detective. 

John smiled at the sight his detective made, and he kissed him underneath his chin and on the tip of his nose before guiding him back to sit on the couch. This time John leaned back into the corner with Sherlock between his legs, allowing him to sprawl out like he often preferred to do during a sulk.

“There, are we feeling better now?” John asked in a low rumble, and Sherlock nodded, tilting his face to hide in John’s oatmeal jumper covered chest. John chuckled and kissed the top of his head, “I love you Sherlock, and there will never be anyone else. This is where we belong, the two of us here at Baker Street.”

For a moment, John thought Sherlock had fallen asleep, but the younger man moved his head from John’s jumper to meet his eyes for a brief moment, one side of his lips quirking into a small smile.

“Yes, John.” He said quietly, moving his hand down John’s arm to grasp his smaller hand and hold it tightly in a vice grip. John squeezed back reassuringly; _I won’t ever let you go again_ , as Sherlock settled his head back down on John’s chest.

Sentiment, John smiled to himself, was not always unwelcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning new intimacies has been an experience for the boys, but they wouldn't have it any other way. Warning: some sexual content and references to torture and alcoholism

It had been two weeks since the talk Sherlock and John shared on the couch in the newly rebuilt 221B and everything was finally back to their brand of “normal.”

Sherlock was taking new cases once again, and consulting with Scotland Yard with the help of Graham Lestrade- _It’s Greg Sherlock, and you know it! -_ John was working at a new surgery near Baker Street, with a flexible enough schedule to help Sherlock on cases. All in all, it was as if a time machine had taken them back six years to the domesticity and adrenaline pumping excitement at 221B. Yes, everything was back to normal.

Well, mainly everything.

“Oh, John _, yes_!” Sherlock pants as John holds his hips firmly in his grasp, lining up their erect members and rutting against each other in the 221B stairwell like teenage boys afraid to get caught out by their parents. Speaking of-

“John! Sherlock! What do you boys think you’re doing?” The scandalized voice of Mrs. Hudson shocked the two men and they sprang apart, Sherlock red-faced and trying to hide his erection and John trying to look shamefaced as well, and failing.

“Sorry Mrs. H” John called as he herded Sherlock up the stairs, zipping up his pants and winking at Mrs. Hudson who huffed in fond exasperation at her two tenants who reminded her of the sons she never had.

Once the door to the flat was blessedly closed and locked, John turned around with a decidedly predatory look on his face to stare at his partner. Sherlock had a lingering blush on his cheeks, and was pretending to be absorbed in his phone as he stood in front of John, briefly glancing upwards to gulp at John’s expression before looking away to maintain an air of nonchalance.

“Come here, love, let’s have a cuddle” John smiles, taking Sherlock’s hand and leading him to the, now shared, downstairs bedroom. John looked to Sherlock for permission before deftly undressing the detective into only his pants and then undressing himself likewise.

Finally, John lowered them down so they rested snug up together underneath the duvet chest to chest, feeling each other’s heartbeats. While the recently solved triple homicide case had them both running high on endorphins, they hadn’t slept in 30 hours and John knew that Sherlock would need to unwind after such an exhilarating case. Sherlock began to grumble his tell tale- _I am not tired, John_ \- but John saw Sherlock’s eyes begin to slip down due to the warmth and safety of their bed.

“Shh, sweetheart, go to sleep. I know you’re tired,” John whispered into the curly hair, kissing the top of his head and watching the embarrassed flush grace those magnificent cheekbones and trail down that long neck. Sherlock half-heartedly glared and John’s chuckle, and the two men quickly fell into a comfortable, dreamless sleep, wrapped up in one another.

* * *

 

Since the confession two weeks ago, Sherlock and John had been easing into their relationship naturally. Sherlock was at a bit of a loss, having never been in a relationship before, but John Watson is endlessly chivalrous and decides that his lovely detective deserves to be dated properly.

After talking about Sherlock’s lack of dating experience- _I went on a date with a woman once for a case, but when she discovered I was using her to discover the whereabouts of the husband, she threw her drink in my face. Just as well, she was horrid company-_ John merely shook his head in fond exasperation and took Sherlock on a date to Angelo’s.

Once there, he asked Angelo to bring a candle to the table, since it always was more romantic, and called Sherlock beautiful between mouthfuls of mushroom lasagna. Sherlock chocked from shock, and John patted his back until his breathing was back to normal.

“How can you say that, John?” Sherlock asked after a moment of hesitation, looking down at the table and playing idly with a fork, a vulnerable expression on his face in the form of downturned brows and sheltered eyes, the candlelight dancing on his face.

John surveys his detective for a moment before answering carefully, “because it is true, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” John replied easily, taking a sip of wine to cover his delight at his new favorite expression donning Sherlock’s face- shy delight in the form of a soft blush on his cheekbones and the slight hitching of his breath.

John continued, wanting to be perfectly clear to the ridiculous detective that he loved, “Sherlock, I know I have only dated women in the past, but I have noticed men. I was in the army for Christ sakes” John explained with a chuckle, and Sherlock joined along, “but there was always something so striking about you. Your tall, lean figure, your piercing blue-gray eyes, your silky, enrapturing voice and your adorable curls on top of it all.” Sherlock spluttered at being called adorable, as if it was a capital offense, but John merely laughed, “you are, sweetheart, you’re so beautiful to me.”

Sherlock stopped playing with the fork for a moment, tentatively looking up to meet John’s eyes with a little grin, “you’re beautiful too John…. And if one of us is adorable, it’s you. You’re smaller” Sherlock decided in his posh accent, emphasizing the words ridiculously to make John laugh.

“Whatever you say, honey” John concludes with a grin, asking for the check from their waiter and paying the bill despite Sherlock’s protests.

“This is a date, and I asked you, and so I want to pay. You gave me the gift of your charming and undistracted company all night, not a murder to distract you in sight” John explained with a grin, “and I think someone deserves an award.”

Sherlock shivered noticeably in his coat as they walked home, but there was no chill in the air beyond anticipation for the night to come.                                                                                                  

* * *

 

John woke up shortly before noon the next day, stretching out his aching muscles and gently nudging Sherlock off of his bad shoulder. The sunlight was shining in the window, indicating an oddly sunny London day.

Sherlock grumbled slightly at the lack of warmth for a moment, before stealing the majority of the duvet and flipping over to the other side of the bed, his gangly legs sticking out of the bottom of the comforter.

John gave a contented sigh, and wondered if he could become any happier than he was in that moment. He severely doubted it.

Since the night at Angelo’s, he and Sherlock’s new forming relationship had been steadily growing every day. And although Sherlock was particularly worried about physical intimacy, their first time was gentle with John instructing Sherlock the entire time.

"Here, Sherlock, put you hand there and- no, don't put too much pressure all at once- let it build" John instructed as he grasped Sherlock's weeping erection and instructed Sherlock to do the same for him, both of them gently rubbing against each other's abdomen's in a natural movement. 

"Shh, Sherlock, let go for me, love." John panted, grasping Sherlock's erection tighter in his grip and gazing down at the flustered man beneath him, "there, right there, that's brilliant" John sighed as the dexterous fingers stroked teasingly up his shaft, Sherlock's other hand gently rubbing his perineum to tease his prostate, putting just enough pressure to hint at the pending orgasm but not enough to send John over the edge. John growled playfully at the younger man and bit his earlobe lightly in retribution, earning him a breathy laugh from the teasing dark-haired man. 

'Of course he would be a bloody natural at this' John scoffed inwardly, finding the virginal detective's natural proclivity towards sexual acts both frustrating and unsurprising. After all, if anyone would be a quick study, it was Sherlock Holmes. 

After a while of this, their abilities to control their baser instincts faded away and the two men kissed, nipped, and tugged their way to completion in a messy and hurried pace.

"Oh, God... Yeah Sherlock" John panted, using his free arm to stroke Sherlock's concave hip bone (too thin- needs feeding up) as the two men groaned, reaching orgasm as one. 

"I love you," John panted, as the aftershocks wore off from the satisfying completion, kissing Sherlock on his glistening forehead, damp from their exertions, before rolling off of the younger man to grab a flannel to clean them both. 

While wiping off Sherlock's stomach, John heard a mumbled, "-ove you too." John smiled and teasingly asked, "what was that, love? That you just said?" 

After receiving no response from the detective, who had his eyes closed and was refusing to acknowledge his lover, John grinned wider and began to tickle lightly up his abdomen with his fingertips, causing the detective's eyes to fly open and a little hiccuping laugh to escape his mouth. 

"J-John, s-stop" Sherlock demanded as John quickly straddled his lap while still naked and reached to tickle viciously under his arms. Sherlock positively shrieked with laughter, half-heartedly smacking John away, but as the detective could easily flip John off of him and did not, they both knew he secretly enjoyed the affection. John laughed along, adoring the sight of his detective completely at ease in his arms and happy, tapering off the tickles when Sherlock's breathing began to accelerate once again. Once Sherlock's final giggles had faded, he moved to get out from under his lover, but John tightened his thighs and held Sherlock captive underneath him. Sherlock gave up and flopped back down on the pillows with a sigh. 

Sherlock then looked over at John with a slight glare: "is it normal to harass your lover after they have given you an orgasm? I may not know from personal experience, but I don't think it is appropriate bedroom etiquette John" he informed the doctor with a sniff, and John snickered at Sherlock's put-upon expression, leaning down to place kisses on his elegant neck and collarbones. 

"You're right, the afterglow is for pillow talk and expressions of sentiment" John teased with a small smile between kisses, "and I asked what you mumbled when I was cleaning you off, but you decided to ignore me" John said with a faux-hurt expression on his face.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, and the silence that descended replaced the giddy atmosphere of the bedroom with a softer tonality, and John was suddenly aware of the warring colors in Sherlock's expressive eyes, how they too were so fickle in their color choice; always fluctuating between a deep blue, emerald and grey, much like the emotions of the man himself, always changing, subtly. How a man so emotive had often claimed the title of high-functioning sociopath was startling to John now. He only has to look into his eyes to see the deep running emotions of that neglected heart. 

"I said" Sherlock whispered in the broken silence, "that I love you, John." 

There it was, the affection John wished to hear endlessly. The often overused phrase that would never lose its meaning between them, who had fought to express the words with so much ardor, for so many years. 

And so their first time was completed, but John would never forget the beautiful simplicity, the rightness, of that night. He doubted Sherlock would either. 

They both came with nightmares and insecurities; sometimes Sherlock would stare at his back in the mirror and wonder how John found his body attractive as it was marred with scars, until John would pull him away, lay him down and kiss every inch of the scars until both men were emotionally content: "You're beautiful love, these scars show your devotion to me. They show that you came back to me" John sniffed with tears sparkling in his eyes, and Sherlock would gather the army doctor in his arms and they would relax in the silence. 

There are nights when John stares longingly at the Scotch bottle on the top of the fridge, craving to take the edge off the memories with his deceitful wife, until Sherlock will draw him into the bedroom with promises of an “experiment.”

“Experiment” has become a euphemism for new sexual exploits, but John isn’t complaining.

John is pulled out of his musings when Sherlock begins kicking, rolling back over and sprawling on top of John, his hair like a bird’s nest against John’s mouth and his boney ribs poking into John’s hip in the process.

The doctor smiled and pushed down the fluffy curls with a hand, placing a few little kisses there along the way, and nudged his detective with his leg.

“Do you want to get up Sherlock?” John asked, receiving a groan in reply, and a practically unintelligible “no” from the petulant younger man. John, in his endless patience, merely rolled his eyes and settled down to doze for a bit longer.

No, he didn't want to get up either. Not quite yet.


End file.
